I Kissed You, Remember?
by melissaeverdeen13
Summary: A little bit of what we did see, and then more of what we didn't, during 8x22 in the men's bathroom.


**This was an anonymous request sent to me on Tumblr! Part of the request was to write it in 3rd person, and I tried but it didn't feel right to me. I'm sorry, anon! This will have to do. I wrote it pretty fast, because this scene is so very typical early Japril. Hope you guys enjoy, don't forget to review!**

 **Also: everything you saw in the episode (characters/dialogue/situations/etc) up until the point where it stops all belongs to Shonda Rhimes and the creators of GA. The plot that came from my imagination obviously came from me, and belongs to me :)**

My boards are going horribly. And that's not an exaggeration, either. In fact, it might even be an understatement.

The problem isn't that I don't know the information. I do. Oh, I definitely do. I _know_ I know this stuff. But every time the proctors ask me a question about how to help some hypothetical, totally-not-real, unwell patient...instead of a body that needs treating, I'm picturing a different body entirely.

As I looked into those people's eyes as they sat across from me asking question after question, the only eyes I could see were a pair of aquamarine ones that spent most of last night staring into mine.

The sweat started right away. I felt it seeping from my armpits, but I had no idea that it would soak through my shirt with the amount of speed that it did. So, when the break came, the first thing I did was run to the closest bathroom (which just so happened to be the men's,) and do my best to dry my shirt under the hand dryers.

All the men who are in here using the bathroom for what it's actually for give me wide-eyed stares and then direct their eyes anywhere else. I feel my heart rate speeding up and hammering in my ears; the sweat isn't getting any better, either. Even if I do manage to dry this shirt off, the moment I put it back on it's going to get stained all over again.

Finally, I reach my wit's end with the stares. "What? What? You're supposed to be doctors! I've seen your things, you've seen mine. It's all just flesh and cartilage, get over it." I whip my shirt down to my side, and the panicked men disperse.

As the crowd clears, an involuntary, distressed noise escapes me and I see Jackson's face across the way. "April, wh…" He looks just as confused as I feel.

"Hey, Jackson. How's it going?" I ask, still fervently drying my shirt and speaking with a nervous, shaky voice.

"Not so good. You?" He doesn't seem to be able to look up from the floor.

"I am dying in there. I am actually failing."

"You, too? Because mine is a _total_ fiasco."

"They think I'm insane," I say, my voice rising with hysteria.

"Oh, they're toying with me."

"I am self-destructing into a puddle of sweat. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Oh, I know exactly what's wrong with me," he says, looking up finally. "And I still can't reel it in."

I'm not looking at him, though. Instead, I'm pacing back and forth, throwing my arms up in defeat. "I broke my promise to Jesus, and now I can't even talk to Him. And… and I need Him, He's the only one who can calm me down."

Jackson's attention directs to me again. "Why the hell did you do it, why'd you let me?" he asks, and I can hear the frustration in his voice, even through my fit.

"I-I don't know!"

"You said it was okay," he says firmly, pointing a finger at me.

"I know!"

"I knew you'd regret it."

My heart is beating so hard I'm pretty sure it's going to burst through my chest any second. And if I were breathing any harder, one of my lungs might burst. "Why are you yelling?" I yell. "Stop yelling at me!"

He crosses the room and gets closer to me. "Because I'm all messed up now, too. I mean, what am I? I'm the guy who made you break your promise to Jesus? I am _not_ that guy, alright? That guy is gross. It's all very unbecoming, especially for an Avery."

My stomach drops and I feel gutted. " _What_?" I sputter. He glares at me. "Are you honestly comparing breaking my promise _to Jesus_ with putting a tiny dent in your family crest?"

There's a silent moment between us; the first one in this stupid bathroom. He looks concentrated with his tight jaw and low-set eyebrows. "You're right," he admits, shaking his head. "You're right, and I'm sorry." With my hands gripping the sinks behind me, I let out a sigh that deflates my shoulders. "My mom is the examiner in the room right next to mine," he tells me. It's throwing me." He says the last words with angry force.

"Oh, god…" I breathe.

"I know. I'm worried about my mom and what she's gonna think if I fail. It's pathetic. Right?" He looks so upset; all of his rage directed right back to himself.

I shake my head. "No. God, no, Jackson, it's not pathetic." He looks at me like he's trying to figure out a very difficult problem and can't find the answer; it's right in front of him, yet he has to work for it. It's a look I've seen many times on his face, but I've never seen it directed at me. It's not helping my case. "That's the most important relationship in your life," I say.

There's another beat of silence between us where he looks heavy into my eyes and I match his stare. We both know what we're not saying.

And I can't keep not saying it.

I look down at the floor and let out a small breath, then brace myself. "The problem isn't that I broke my promise. That's not the problem." His eyes are boring into me. If it were possible, they'd have burnt a hole by now. "The problem is…" I lift my eyes from the floor to meet his, and lock them into place. "The problem is..."

He looks down with a slight smile, and when he looks up it leaves his lips, but stays in his eyes. "That it felt good," he says, finishing my sentence.

"That it felt good," I repeat in a whisper.

He takes a couple steps closer to me. "I shouldn't have...taken advantage," he says.

"Taken advantage?" I ask, sounding incredulous. "What?"

With his hands shoved into his pockets, he shakes his head and seemingly forces himself to walk away from me. "We should...we should go."

I don't watch him walk towards the door. Instead, I lift my eyes to the ceiling and let the physical memory from last night come rushing back to me like it's been begging to do all day. Standing there with my hands gripping the sinks, resting my weight back against them, I can practically feel where his lips were on every inch of my skin.

And I want it. I want him. Again.

"Taken advantage..." I pause. "I kissed you, remember?"

"Yeah. But I kissed you back."

Still without looking over at him, I say, "Yeah, but then I unbuttoned your shirt." After the words come out, I let my eyes slowly wander over to the door, where he's turned away from the handle and is now watching me.

"Yeah, and then I...pulled up that skirt." His eyes graze my entire body, and he lets himself pause in the places he wants to.

"Yeah, but then I kissed your neck," I say, leaning ever-so-slightly back.

A smile teases his lips. His perfect, pink lips. He swallows - I watch his Adam's apple bob - and then turns around and locks the door. I bite my lower lip and find myself unable to peel my eyes away from him; the heat is returning between my legs and I don't think there's anything I can do to stop it.

I don't think I want to stop it.

"Yeah," he says, walking over to me. "And then I took off your shirt."

He stands across from me, his eyes roving all over my body. He pauses at my hips and my breasts and finally comes up to my eyes. "And I…" I say, almost overcome with how heavy this is getting. "Then I unbuckled your belt." I push myself away from the sinks so I'm closer to him.

He holds my waist with both hands and brings his face to mine; pressing our foreheads and noses together. "And then… I slipped my hand up your back…"

The skirt I'm wearing doesn't make for easy access, so before reaching up to his collar, I hitch it up just slightly. I'm pretty sure where my legs are going to be, and I want them to get there as easily as possible. "And I wrapped my arms around your neck…"

In one quick, fluid motion, he picks me up and sets me down on the countertop I'd been leaning against, rubbing his hands up my side as he does so. "Then, I…" he says, his breath against my lips.

"Then, you…"

"Then, I…"

I can't wait any longer. I pull his face to mine and kiss him with all I've got; like I'm dying of thirst and he's the last thing on earth to drink. And in that moment, that's what it really feels like.

I had him once, and now I can't get enough.

With my legs wrapped tight around his waist, trapping him against me, I keep a good hold on his neck as he practically kisses the life out of me. Without wasting any time, he picks me up from the counter and with one arm, carries me across the way to a bathroom stall as our lips stay pressed tight against one another.

Once we're inside, I slam the door behind us. While still holding me pressed to the wall with the one arm, he runs his free hand through my hair and roots it there as he bites down on my lower lip with an intensity that makes me moan.

"We don't have much time…" he breathes, and my feet hit the floor. He unbuckles his belt hastily and, once it's undone, turns me to the side to unzip my pencil skirt. The zipper slides down easily with a small sound, and as he runs his hands up my waist under my tank top, my whole body is practically throbbing. I lift my arms up and he strips it off me, and when I step out of my skirt, he lifts me up from the ground again. I push the sleeves of his jacket from his shoulders, and he pushes his pants down only as far as they need to go.

He hitches me up a bit forcefully as I start to slip down, and tightens his grip around my waist to keep me there. We don't speak. There's no need to. We both know what's about to happen, and we both want it more than anything else in the moment. I feel his hand move lower and pull the crotch of my underwear off to one side, and then in one swift moment, he's inside me.

My legs tighten around his hips as he pushes further, and my jaw drops open as I whimper desperately. My eyebrows arch towards the ceiling, and my fingers are digging into the back of his neck for dear life. As he thrusts harder, the thin wall of the bathroom stall shudders with the force of our bodies, but we barely notice.

"You like that?" he breathes, his voice as smooth as silk. I nod shakily, and he somehow slides his hands from my waist down under my butt without me ever feeling like I'm about to fall. I move my hands from his neck down to his chest, where I rub his skin as he forces his hips against mine harder and harder. Then, he starts scooping his pelvis upwards at a slower rate, which makes everything happen for me. "Are you close?" he asks, his mouth hot against my own. I nod again, rendered incapable of speaking, and with the next thrust, my legs tighten around him as my orgasm ripples through me at an impeccably slow rate. So slow, that I'm still experiencing it when he comes inside of me. I pull on his neck to get his face closer to mine, and practically attack his mouth with kisses. I pull his bottom lip between my teeth and feel him twitching inside and against me, and want nothing more than to go again.

But I know we can't.

He's kissing my neck when he gently lets my legs down to the floor, and I unwrap a slew of toilet paper to do my best at cleaning myself up. He does the same, and we both try extremely hard to look everywhere else but at each other, even in the stall that now seems much more cramped than it did just mere seconds ago.

I still feel dirty once I'm done cleaning off the residue of what we've done, but there's nothing more I can do about it. I adjust my underwear, not missing the wet patch on the crotch that I'm now going to have to walk around with, and pick up my tank top which ended up in a crumpled pile by the base of the toilet. I gingerly replace it on my body, and then pull up my skirt as he's buckling his belt. Before I can twist at an inhumane angle to do the zipper, Jackson's bracing one hand on my hip and using the other to pull the zipper up for me.

"Thanks," I say, eyes darting everywhere. I unlock the stall door and stand in front of the mirror, noticing the wrinkles in my clothes and the rumpled look of my hair. I do my best to flatten and fluff, respectively, but it doesn't do much.

The nervous feeling in my stomach is back with a vengeance. I feel like I'm going to throw up, but I have to ignore it. The clock on the wall says we have to be back in our exam rooms in five minutes.

I pull on the pink shirt that now has dry sweat rings on it, and wring my hands. "Guess we should get going," I say, chewing the inside of my cheek.

"Right," he agrees. "Need to get back." He unlocks the bathroom door and wraps his fingers around the handle. My thighs clench when I see his fingers move like that, and I force myself to look away. I need to get a hold of myself. I can't be thinking like this. I'm in the middle of taking the most important test of my entire life up to this point. I can't be thinking about him. I can't.

"Uh, good luck," I offer.

"You, too," he says, his eyes lingering on me. "Are you going to…?"

"You should probably go out first, you know, then me…" I say. "Suspicious. And everything."

"Right," he says. "See you after."

I nod tersely. "Yep."

When he leaves the room, I lean forward on the sinks and then stare at myself in the mirror. I must have no conscience. And definitely no willpower. Who have I turned into?

And what have I done?


End file.
